


La Petite Mort

by pekori (soondubu)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst and Porn, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-20
Updated: 2009-01-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soondubu/pseuds/pekori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>La Petite Mort</i> (French euphemism for an orgasm, literally translating to "the little death") is a somewhat lengthy attempt at articulating a theory. It takes place during the future arc of Reborn!, but in the in-between time — the time between when the Millefiore assassinations began and Reborn was sent into the future. It depicts what I think life may have been like for the survivors. Their days and nights; their coping mechanisms.</p><p>Spoilers for the Future Arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zero

Her panting reminds him of when they were children.

_Ha...ha...ha..._

Incessant. Whining.

_Ha...ha...ha..._

Still, it is one of a very few things that comforts him anymore. He tunes into it as he lays supine across his bed. Ears ready, his eyes fall idly over her features; she had grown quite beautiful over time. The short-cropped hair suits her, its edges sweeping back and forth over her cheeks as she moves as if they are the brushes painting that blush over her skin. Even the way her eyebrows meet in the middle, furrowing her features, is attractive in a way it never had been when they were younger. He closes his eyes to the sight before him — difficult as it is to see in the first place in the dim light — to better focus all of his attention onto the slight sounds that fall from her lips, so many lemmings diving into the sea. As beautiful as she may or may not now be, he has little genuine interest in it.

This is not the first time they have found each other like this, nor will it be the last. (Of that, they are individually but equally assured, though with varying amounts of distaste.) It is not the first time her hands have helped her balance over his hips that always feel all the more distant for their nakedness. It is not the first time his hands have reached up to briefly fondle her breasts (supple but firm, warm and infinitely boring), thumbs grazing her nipples with a carelessness that cannot be faked. And it is not the first time they have gotten nothing out of these moments but a brief glimpse back at how things used to be, a way to forget the things they don't want to think about and simply live in the moment instead of living for the moment.

The even, tempered thud of her landing against his pelvis is beginning to grate on him. This has already gone on longer than he would have liked, but he had been feeling indulgent, so he let her continue. However, there is a limit to his patience, and she is quickly approaching that line. His eyes open, brow worried to match hers if only in appearance, and his hand lifts from his chest, reaching forward. He hadn't realized the light sheet of sweat covering his body until that moment when the cool air she is creating rushes over the newly exposed skin causing goosebumps all over. Dismissing them, his fingers seek out their target, then begin to rub deliberately at her clitoris, willing her shuddering to commence so this session can finally conclude.

Her panting intensifies: a rolling, nasally groaning, harmonizing with the breaths, but eventually drowning them out entirely and sounding all too similar to a car engine refusing to turn over. He arches his back, grinding and bumping against her; he lifts his other hand, fingers nimbly pinching at the delicate skin on the underside of her breasts, her nipples, anywhere they can find purchase without being immediately knocked away by their momentum. He is desperate to finish this and get back to his cigarettes. He can feel the withdrawal already crawling beneath his skin, making his fingers itch.

The times he thought she would call his name she never did, and the times she did revolted him, made him guilty and a little embarrassed for coming in the first place. As the tension boils over in his groin, her pantingmoaningwhining makes way for nothing more than an anti-climactic _“hahiii.”_ He is relieved. It is bad enough they’d been so synchronized.

It takes only moments for her to recover, smoothing her hair back and pulling off of him in a perfectly fluid if not perfectly detached movement. He waits a half beat of politeness before sitting up himself to dispose of the only remnants he can. Then he takes up his usual position on the side of the mattress that is marked by an unnoticeable depression. She takes her leave off the other side of the bed, gathering up her intimates and tossing his at his back. Again out of politeness, he stands and slips them on, but scoops his pack of cigarettes up off the nightstand as he sits back down.

_One left._ He removes it, crushing the box in his fist before dropping it into the bin as well, and purses the cigarette between his lips. He feels the mattress bounce beneath him as she returns, but wouldn’t have minded nearly as much if his hand hadn’t met only with the smoothness of the bedside table instead of his lighter. His eyes dart to the surface, quickly scanning for any sign of it, his agitation growing exponentially. Finally, a hand that is not his own produces the glint of its case and then the flick to ignite it. It irritates him further to see how steadily she can hold it.

He allows her to light the end of his cigarette, but is quick to snatch the lighter away from her once she has put out its flame. His first drag is quick, exhaled immediately to expel the taste of the butane before he takes his first real one, long and deep and held in his lungs until he thinks they, too, might burn up. He would not be that lucky, however, and lets the smoke stream out through his nostrils.

The feel of her hands running lightly up his back gives him goosebumps — the nervous sort of goosebumps that make one want to claw the flesh from one’s bones. He had hoped, since she had _not_ called his name, that they could avoid this part. The part where she will lightly nuzzle against his back while he smokes, arms draped casually over his shoulders, fingers playing over his chest. The part that tries in sad desperation to make this feel _safe_. Though, as much as he hates it, he will give her all the time that she needs. It only makes things all that much more unpleasant when he asks her for anything other than her time. She will stop soon, once she’s had her fill of this mockery. He is just pissed he won’t have another cigarette to actually enjoy afterward.


	2. One

The day of the funeral rained, begging for a cliché of how even nature mourned such a loss. The tenth Vongola family head would have found such a thought both ridiculous and embarrassing. Everyone in attendance was thinking it anyway.

Hayato Gokudera, the Tenth’s right-hand man and, subsequently, his successor, delivered the eulogy. It was the last time anyone ever saw him without a lit cigarette. Still, even without one, he stayed almost unnervingly calm and steady. His voice never wavered, his eyes never watered, and he didn’t even bring along any sort of note cards. If he had been asked, he would have explained that he never bothered to prepare anything; he would have argued that trying to condense Tsunayoshi Sawada to any number of sheets of paper would have been both an impossible task and a dishonor.

After the ceremony, everyone retreated back inside the base. Excepting his sister, the girls — no, they were women, now — had worked hard to create quite a spread for the guests and friends, but it seemed to be in vain as no one had any sort of an appetite. They took seats and stances in the reception hall, silent and sad, some carrying sparse plates out of politeness. Several agonizing minutes of this passed before Gokudera stood to do the only thing that seemed proper: he thanked the visiting attendees, appointed the children at the door to take what few plates there were, and allowed them all the relief they were hoping for. He made sure, however, to stop Kusakabe as he was leaving to murmur instructions to give to the Cloud Guardian.

The room looked positively untouched once it had been cleared, and Gokudera himself was the one to begin cleaning up all of the wasted food, saying to store as much as could be stored as there was no sense in simply throwing it out.

"Don't worry about the mess, Gokudera," Kyouko said softly, reaching to take the stack of plates he'd just picked up. "We can take care of it." While he understood exactly to whom she was referring, he was reluctant to leave and much more so to release the dishes he held. He'd already sacrificed so much time he could have used for procrastinating by dismissing the guests; he didn't want to have to give this up, too. He wasn't ready.

"Ah," he said, and finally relinquished his hold on the plates, slowly so she wouldn't stumble. His eyes lingered just a little longer, though, as if hoping she would see the pleading he really didn't want to be showing in the first place. She didn't so he didn't push, and instead turned toward the door, beckoning with a flick that the men — and one young boy — follow. He heard the shuffling of feet along the carpet, the low voice of the Rain Guardian thanking and reassuring Kyouko, and then nothing but his own shoes on the smooth floor of the corridor. He would take them to what should now be his office, though he could not bring himself claim it.

He heard them trailing behind him: first one set of shoes that clopped deliberately, its steps echoing distastefully off of the walls; then another pair that softly shuffled; then, just a little behind, a third that moved evenly and whisper quiet. Gokudera waited for the trio at the door, standing beside it in the hallway while they filed in. The older two wore the same somber face he did, but Lambo simply couldn't hold onto such stoicism and looked seconds away from tears. Gokudera resisted the urge to reach out to him, completely out of the fear that the boy would cry and that he wouldn't be able to stop those tears or his own.

Lambo was immediately ushered into a seat as Gokudera entered the room, shutting the door. The Rain Guardian sat to one side of him and the Sun Guardian at the other. Gokudera still said nothing as he circled the desk, but he did not sit. Instead, he leaned forward and clicked three times on the computer's keyboard. "Kusakabe-san."

"He's here. He would prefer to stay where he is, however."

Gokudera sighed, though he hadn't been expecting any less. "Fine. But please ask him to listen."

"Right."

Gokudera looked away from the monitor, focusing on his hands pressed against the surface of the desk. His fingers dented the ink blotter in ten different places, the soft foam giving easily under his weight. "There is still a lot of work that needs to be done."

"Gokudera, is it really necessary to talk about all of this today?"

That got him to look up. It also got a bit of his old fire back in his eyes. If he could have, he would have used it to ignite the Rain Guardian where he sat. "Should we sit by and wait for the Millefiore to take this chance to attack again?"

"Well, no, but considering how much damage they already know they've done–"

"You don't think they _planned_ for this? They wouldn't have executed the assassination without a second phase, or more."

"I still don't think it's fair to any of us to jump right back into things as if–"

"As if _what_? As if he would want us to?"

"Yes. That exactly. Tsuna would not force us right back into work when we are all hurting this badly. He would under–"

"I AM NOT HIM."

The sound of his bark echoed off the walls of his bedroom as Gokudera jolted awake. His sheets were twisted around his legs. His pillow was on the floor. His throat stung a little from the force of his shout, but not as much as his pride did upon the realization that he'd vocalized that outside of the dream.

Not a minute after he woke, there was a knock at his door. Gokudera resisted the urge to shout again, tell him to leave, only the hand didn't wait for a reply at all before opening the door, letting its body in.

"What do you want?"

"Your voice carries more than you think, Gokudera." The Rain Guardian casually crossed the bedroom and came to sit on the side of the bed. He noted the invisible dip, noticed it only because he'd sat on just half of it, but said nothing. "You had that dream again."

"It's the middle of the night. I'm tired."

"And I'm here."

"And I wish you weren't."

There was silence, and a few heartbeats later, Gokudera set about untangling himself. Once freed, he rolled over, away from his friend, and pretended he would be able to go back to sleep.

"Gokudera," that voice spoke, soft and sadder than he had heard it in a long time, "not even Tsuna could do this alone. We don't expect you to either." The Rain Guardian's weight shifted off the bed and Gokudera listened to his footsteps as they finally left him alone in the dark quiet of his bedroom.

Morning came too soon for Gokudera's liking, though in his wakefulness the night seemed to drag on and on. He did not rise until he heard the muffled shuffling of the others outside his door; they would wonder if he was the first one up again. After the corridor had cleared from what he could hear, he slid out of bed and dressed for breakfast. Today would be another long day.

The kitchen bustled with morning sounds: clinking plates and glasses, a steady hum of voices and the bubbling of laughter. Gokudera slid in soundlessly, though everyone registered his presence, silence consuming them at once. Kyouko offered a smile, brave but false, and immediately set about fetching him a plate. Haru refused to make eye contact; his nightmares often kept her awake as well, though she never really knew why. I-Pin's hand reached a half-second too late to catch Lambo's arm as he hurriedly gathered his food and moved away from the main table, sitting on the other side of the room. I-Pin was quick to follow. The Rain Guardian watched the children take their leave, his head slowly turning back to watch Gokudera take up a seat that was still cool. "Good morning, Gokudera," he said.

"Mm," Gokudera grunted in reply as Kyouko set his food down before him. Kyouko seemed to pause for half a moment, throwing a glance to the Rain Guardian, who simply returned it.

Haru would not look up from her food, though she didn't seem to be eating much more of it either.

The rest of breakfast was silent, save the gentle sounds of chewing and glasses being set back onto tables. No one ever had much of anything to talk about around Gokudera, and he was fairly good at pretending it didn't bother him. Then again, it didn't seem to anyone that much of anything made him happy anymore. He had always been prone to scowls, but even then, if one looked hard, a smile was the occasional reward. Lately, his scowl was as permanent as his cigarette, though he was considerate enough not to smoke at mealtimes.

Though the last to arrive, Gokudera was the first to leave, and as always he made sure to hurry away from the kitchen as quickly as he could so he wouldn't hear the stirrings of conversation building back up in his absence. Today, however, he was followed. He could hear the footsteps chasing him, not running, but moving fast enough. He didn't bother to make it a game because he had already lost.

"Gokudera-san!" He stopped and turned, surprised to hear I-Pin speaking. "Gokudera-san, I realize I am probably out of line, but I wish that you would talk to Lambo."

"About what?"

"He...he really looks up to you. Lately, though, after what happened last week, he's afraid..."

After a time, Gokudera responded briskly with, "That's probably for the best." Then he left her, the words she struggled to form falling from her mouth faster than she could collect them, and he thought that was probably for the best as well.

He retreated back to his bedroom. He could more often be found hiding there than anywhere else, due in no small part to the fact that he did not feel right smoking anywhere else. As such, the scent seemed to have managed to embed itself in even the cold steel of the walls. His laundry never smelled as fresh as the others', his whites permanently dingy. And still he went through as many packs a day as he could, lighting the new with the last few embers of the old. No one really liked it, but it was far worse when he went without them.


	3. Two

Every night, as if the walls were paper thin instead of steel-lined, Haru Miura could hear the way he tossed and turned in his restless sleep. The imagined sounds kept her wide awake, listening. Sometimes she forgot to breathe, trying to silence every outside noise so that she might finally be able to hear him settle. He never settled, and always woke with a scream.

Those were the times that she wanted to go to him the most. She didn't understand what it was that was bothering him — simply that, lately, with Tsuna-san away, he'd been more irritable than usual. Sometimes she found her feet on the floor, ready to take her to him, to try to calm him, before she could remind herself that that was not her place. She would then tuck herself back into bed and wait for Yamamoto's footsteps down the hallway, quiet and steady, concentrate on the silence of steel walls as Gokudera dismissed him. Then she (and, she presumed, Gokudera as well) would be awake until morning, lying in bed and refusing to be the first one up.

When day breaks, Haru hears her alarm clock go off, the sound shrill but not quite piercing. She waits a moment before slowly getting out of bed, recalling without quite remembering a time when she would be going through these motions while still stuck in a haze of sleep. She shuts off the alarm, stretches, and dresses for the new day, her pajamas occasionally falling just shy of the hamper, ready to be picked up before she climbs back into bed for the night.

Even before Haru's long nights began, Kyouko would always be the first in the kitchen, a pan already heating eggs on the stove, rice already in the cooker. But before any of that, one would be met by the pungent smell of Italian coffee, strong and robust, wafting out into the corridor as if the doors were propped open. Haru never could stomach it; even just a mouthful would sit heavy and low in her stomach for the rest of the day. The smell, however, was enough to perk her up to be of some help to Kyouko in finishing breakfast for everyone before they arrived.

The children always came next. Haru wondered often if they ever slept at all, so typical was it to hear the two of them up murmuring late into the night from Lambo's bedroom. No matter how many times they were told not to, they never listened, and eventually the adults conceded. The two cooperated by at least agreeing to leaving the door open until they went their separate ways. Of course, with Yamamoto away so often, there were many mornings where they would be found asleep in there, door still wide open, I-Pin curled sweetly on the bed and Lambo always sprawled across the floor with a pillow over his face instead of beneath his head.

This morning was no different than any of the others, as Lambo held the door for I-Pin to enter the room first and she waited for him before they sat at the table almost in tandem. The pair always brought a faint smile to Haru's face. Ten years since they'd first met, and their affection had blossomed beautifully — even better than Haru could have planned out herself. As they ate, they would steal glances at each other, blushing whenever their eyes met, always looking immediately back down at their food. In those moments, Haru felt the sharp pangs of envy that had plagued her for years since the time she realized all of her determination would never win her what she wanted. What she thought she'd wanted. Once she'd finally given up the notion of every marrying Tsuna, she realized it was less him that she wanted and more the solidarity, the stability, of the love he could have provided. That much, at least, was not likely to ever change.

Haru doubted such a Prince Charming would fall from the sky and land in her lap, but she had always been a girl with a penchant for high hopes and impossible dreams.

"How did you two sleep last night?" Kyouko asked, seating herself beside Haru with a bowl for each of them. Only she had coffee; Haru and the children were drinking milk.

Lambo's face fell slightly and he hunched over just a bit further into his food. I-Pin's brow furrowed and Haru could imagine her leg pressing gently against Lambo's, hidden comfort. "We heard Gokudera-san's nightmare again."

Haru wished she had the sense to close that door at night, rules or not.

Lambo stirred uneasily at his food.

"It isn't anything for you two to be worrying over," Haru chirped after a little too much time for it to be convincing. "You know he never remembers it in the morning." Even Kyouko couldn't buy that lie, but they both hoped the children might be able to start pushing the subject away.

"Perhaps today we could start planning for Gokudera's birthday?" Kyouko offered, managing to get Lambo to look up from his meal, though his expression scarcely changed to reflect his interest. "It seems he could really use some cheering up lately, hm? What sort of cake do you think he'd like?"

"Anything Bianchi-nee didn't make," I-Pin deadpanned, getting a stifled snort of laughter from Lambo. That made everyone smile.

"Maybe... maybe we could get some small sparklers to put on it instead of candles," Lambo ventured, speaking into his breakfast. "Dynamite could be a little too dangerous..."

"Maybe we could shape the cake like a stick of dynamite?" I-Pin said.

"Those are both wonderful ideas!" Kyouko said, beaming at the pair of them.

"As for gifts," I-Pin began, her thought clearly only half-formed.

"Black shirts," Lambo said immediately. "To hide the gunpowder marks and careless stains Kyouko-nee can't get out of his white ones."

I-Pin giggled and Lambo's smile widened a little. "We could ask Giannini-san if he could invent a machine to make him smile sometimes, too."

"Ah, maybe a tickling machine."

"No good," said a new voice, thoughtful and serious, and everyone turned to the door to see who it was. "Gokudera is immune to tickling. I should know."

"Yamamoto-san! You're back!" I-Pin and Lambo chimed almost in unison.

"Eating breakfast without me," he sighed, but he couldn't hide the smirk on his face, knowing he'd walked in on the best part of the conversation.

"Nonsense," Kyouko said, standing, hurrying to fetch him a plate while he sat at the table beside I-Pin, across from Haru.

"But, what is this idea of a tickling machine for Gokudera in the first place? Are we really so sure his smile wouldn't be even scarier? Thank you." Yamamoto wasted no time in digging into his food. He didn't look like he'd slept much either. Then again, he tended to look fatigued more often than not anyway; the bags under his eyes did not suit him any better than they did Gokudera.

"We're trying to think of gifts for Gokudera-san's birthday," I-Pin explained after flushing her mouth with milk.

"Ahh," Yamamoto said sagely. "Isn't the most obvious way to make him happy simply to–"

Yamamoto did not finish his sentence, however, as the man in question shuffled through the doorway at that very moment, severing the conversation as abruptly as he did cleanly. Haru turned from the door as quickly as she had turned toward it to see who had arrived, hunching over his breakfast in the same way Lambo had been. Lambo, meanwhile, was hurrying away from the table, I-Pin right after him.

"Good morning, Gokudera," Yamamoto said, nodding lightly as Gokudera sat himself beside Haru.

"Mm."

Haru felt just a little bit guilty in wishing that Gokudera would have the decency to wait for others to finish their breakfast before he arrived. Or at the very least the children. Were the discomfort and awkwardness really worth it? Was the strained companionship? She made more attempts to convince herself that it wasn't worth trying to empathize, but by the time he'd rushed through his food, setting his dishes in the sink so no one would have to clean up after him, she couldn't do anything else. She didn't watch him leave, but she finally gave up on her food.

Everyone was startled by I-Pin's sudden leap from her table, but none more than Lambo, who stared after her slightly slack-jawed, eyes wide with concern. Soon after the door shut behind her, low voices could be heard from the hallway, but without any words attached. A few nervous seconds passed before I-Pin returned looking defeated and more than a little put-out. She glanced at Lambo who was still watching her intently but did not reach for her, and that part bothered Haru a little. Instead, I-Pin was the one who reached for Lambo, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she squeezed him where he sat, her cheek resting on the top of his head. His hand gently touched her arm and his eyes closed.

Neither teen moved as Yamamoto got to his feet, but Haru and Kyouko's eyes darted to him quickly enough. "Ya–" Kyouko began.

"Breakfast was delicious as always, ladies," Yamamoto beamed and he gave them a shallow bow at the door. "Sorry I can't stay to clean up. Lots of work to get done."

The girls didn't bother to argue with him, letting him make his exit as gracefully as he ever did. Haru sighed and stared at her half-eaten breakfast, willing her appetite to return for only a few moments more before she, too, stood, and took her bowl to the trash bin. Then she walked past Kyouko and stood by the children, hands on her hips and forced smirk on her face. "Are you two nearly finished? We've got a lot of work to do today. You've got a test, remember?"

Lambo let out a small groan, which made I-Pin laugh and kiss the top of his head. Haru tried not to melt. She had to stay tough; she had to portray this image if only to distract the children. "The faster you finish your breakfast the more time you'll have to study." I-Pin was moving away from Lambo now, though seated herself quite near anyway. Haru couldn't hide her smile. "I'll go get your books."

"They're all in my room," Lambo said, his mouth full. Haru nodded once and turned from them, giving only a quick, unreadable glance to Kyouko before she left the room. While the door was swinging shut, she heard Kyouko stand to clear her own plate and start on the dishes.


	4. Three

Gokudera lit his first cigarette without hesitation, but scarcely took a drag from it before it had somehow burnt itself to the filter. As the smoke of the second curled past his eyes, Gokudera watched it without really seeing it. He knew the girl made sense. He knew he should apologize and not just because this wasn't the first time he'd been asked to do so. His pride got in the way.

Gokudera took a single long drag off of his cigarette and snubbed it, half-smoked, beside the first. Then he stood from the bed, ran an unsteady hand through his hair, and exited the room.

He didn't like the way his shoes were so noisy on the floor of the corridor; it was something he'd always disliked. It was likewise something he'd always dealt with, just as he dealt with it now all the way to the end of the hall where he stopped before a door he had grown to despise. His hand flitted on its handle for just a moment, jerking back as if the metal burned. Perhaps he really was too afraid of going in there ever again. He stared for a very long time, half-willing the door to open itself before him. When it did not, he mustered up enough to take the plunge himself.

The first thing to meet him was a smell of dust and stale air that surprised him a little. It had been only a handful of days since he was last in here, and he had not noticed it then — granted, those circumstances had been quite different. The piano stood solidly, a little lonely in such a grand space, its shiny black paint dulled grey by the coating of disuse. He approached it warily, as though it might attack if he startled it. His shoes still clomped miserably on the flooring — hardwood now — the sheer emptiness of the room exacerbating the sound and his distaste for it.

Standing behind the bench, he looked down, pleased somewhere deep in the back of his mind at the way she had remembered to pull the cover down over the keys to protect them from the dust. The bench was still cleared, not just where they had sat, but entirely. The approval made way for mildly bitter disappointment that they had not bothered to clean the instrument as well. Scowling, Gokudera sat himself before the keys, hands delicately pushing back the cover to expose them. They glistened as beautifully as ever and before he could think of it, his fingers were drawn to them. They glanced across their smoothness, not yet daring to apply any pressure, though the keys bowed gracefully beneath even his slight touch.

After reacquainting with each other, his fingers found their places, arched carefully, and began to play, _pianissimo_.

Nearly a week ago now, in a fit, Gokudera had managed to burn through the remainder of his cigarette stash. He spent a solid hour poring over every inch of his bedroom, hoping to discover some secretly tucked away, but came up empty-handed. That was when he heard the staccato tinkling of fingers stumbling along the upper registers of a piano. The one that was no longer to be touched. The one in the room everyone knew was _off limits_. And he knew instantly whom those fingers belonged to and he planned to break all ten of them in half.

Gokudera immediately charged down the corridor. The Tenth had made sure the music room was built near the sleeping quarters. He had sometimes asked Gokudera to play him or some of the others to sleep. Sometimes he simply asked Gokudera to play. The room was large enough to accommodate everyone at once, and sometimes that was what they all really needed. But Gokudera didn't play for anyone anymore, and he was damned if anyone else was going to lay fingers on an instrument not meant for them. He didn't care how badly they wanted to learn; this was not the way to get his attention and certainly not the way to get on his good side.

Both children jumped when he burst through the door, frightened of his entrance as much as his face. It wasn't until he approached them, however, that they understood just how much trouble they were in. I-Pin wilted not unlike a flower, pulling inward and shrinking away except for one hand that reached protectively for her partner: Lambo. Unsurprisingly, he couldn't do much of anything except move his jaw in time with words that remained unable to be thought of fast enough and were substituted with terrified squeaks instead.

"What the hell do you think you're doing."

"Gokudera-san," I-Pin pleaded, giving life to those words Lambo could not, "we were just curious. We thought–"

"No, you didn't think." Gokudera reached for Lambo's arm to pull him from the piano bench, but he wasn't fast enough. Lambo had had years and years of practice running from Bianchi (and Gokudera, as well) and he put all of that experience to good use now. He fell backwards, slamming into the floor hard, but not hard enough for Gokudera's liking, and began scrambling toward the door. Meanwhile, Gokudera's years of a hard mafia life took over, and his reflexes along with it. Just as he was about to reach the boy, however, there was a dull but powerful blow to the back of his skull, and he blacked out.

He woke up some time later, tucked in bed, with a headache unlike any he'd ever experienced, and knew exactly what she'd done. He also knew that it was for the best because he wasn't quite convinced he wouldn't have killed the boy had he managed to get his hands on him.

With such an excruciating pain in his head, Gokudera made no moves to get up and instead closed his eyes again, hoping sleep would return quickly. He was interrupted by someone opening his door without knocking and only just thought better of shouting.

"Oh, you're awake," her silhouette said softly. He almost couldn't recognize the voice; it rang of familiarity somewhere near the front of his mind, but the only person it could belong to had never spoken so quietly with him. "Should I go?" The question smacked of redundancy he knew she'd heard before she'd even spoken it.

His immediate reaction was the most obvious, and yet he still found himself simply asking, "What do you want?"

She hesitated; he saw her shadow tremble slightly with the movement. Then she carefully stepped toward him, leaving the door open just enough to give her light to navigate, and stopped at his bed. He still couldn't see her face, but he knew that scent. Bianchi smelled of smoke, like himself, but a deeper, heavier scent than that of stale cigarettes. Kyouko mostly just smelled _clean_ without being sterile, and occasionally of talcum powder. I-Pin smelled alternately of linen and ramen, but always with a slight hint of garlic. This shadow smelled of Haru: nothing. Not nothing at all, but nothing in particular. She had never been the sort of girl to over saturate herself with scents and perfumes, even when she was younger. That had not changed as she grew older, though she seemed to absorb all the right scents anyway, and they lingered in her skin and made a scent that wasn't quite her own, but was yet so inexplicably her. He hated it.

"The kids told me what happened. Well, I-Pin told me. Lambo seemed a little too shaken."

"Fine. Send along my apologies. I'm going to sleep."

"I can't do that for you. I mean, I can, but it wouldn't mean anything."

"They _knew_ better and yet they went ahead and did it anyway. I don't see why _I_ am the one that is supposed to apologize."

"Because–"

"I'm not looking for an answer. Now leave."

Haru sighed and Gokudera could just make out the way her hands were fidgeting. He rolled away from her to finalize his decision, and simply waited for her to leave. He wasn't quite sure, but was fairly certain that he fell asleep before she actually did.

Gokudera hit an ugly chord, let his fingers _glissando_ harshly as if trying to tear the keys up, and dropped his fists into his lap. He would not cry.

"Gokudera," the Rain Guardian called from the door Gokudera had forgotten he'd left open, and that made him even angrier.

"What."

"I have a few things I'd like to talk to you about."

"What else is new?"

Gokudera heard the latch click shut and footsteps gliding nearly soundlessly over the floor. His fists tightened and he refused to look up at him.

"What was that you were playing just now? Brahms?"

"Beethoven, but I wouldn't expect you to know the difference."

"Ah, that's right. Which–"

"What the hell do you _want_."

"I wanted to talk to you about Beethoven."

"Bullshit." Gokudera finally looked up, just in time to watch the Rain Guardian lean against the piano, the wood groaning slightly under his weight. He gritted his teeth. "Is this about business?"

"No," he said flippantly, removing his hand from the instrument to rub at the thick coating of dust on his fingers. "When is the last time you cleaned in here?"

"If it's not about business then leave me alone."

"It's about your attitude lately. I mean, you haven't really changed _that_ much in ten years, haha, but last week–"

"Does _everyone_ need to keep bringing that up?"

"Apparently so, since you haven't done anything about it."

"You want me to fucking go back in time and undo it?"

"No, that would be unreasonable." The Rain Guardian smirked in his genuinely playful manner and Gokudera felt his face heat up. "But an apology wouldn't kill you. Poor little guy's afraid to leave his bedroom alone. You haven't realized that's why I-Pin's with him all the time?"

Gokudera hadn't, but didn't say so.

"There's a couple of other things we should probably get out in the open, but not here. Come on."

Gokudera hesitated, staring hard at the Rain Guardian until he turned and started toward the door. Just as he was opening it, Gokudera carefully pulled the cover back over the keys and stood to follow him.


	5. Four

The moment Haru turned from the door, she saw Yamamoto returning with Gokudera in tow. There was more than enough distance between them to tell her immediately that Gokudera was not coming totally willingly, as if the look on his face didn't already speak volumes. Yamamoto gave her a brief nod as he turned midway down the corridor, heading away from the bedrooms, towards the infirmary wing. Gokudera made no indication he even noticed her, but she watched him anyway until he had disappeared around the corner. Then Haru hurried down the hall, more than a little uncomfortable with what she might end up witness to if she lingered.

Lambo's door was closed when she came upon it, and it was a delicate hand that opened it, foolishly fearful that she might be disturbing its occupants though she had just met one and the other was in the kitchen. With just the light from the hallway illuminating it, Haru could already see what a state the room was in. She smiled wryly, feeling a little sorry for Yamamoto having to share a room with a teenage boy, before stepping inside and flicking on the light to better survey it. It would need some tidying up before she could even _find_ their books, let alone bring them back to the children for studying. However, she was somewhat doubtful of their test results already if their books were not in plain sight.

As she cleaned she was mildly alarmed to find quite so much laundry, though that did explain Kyouko's constant reminders to him. She piled all that she found by the door in the hopes she might uncover a basket or hamper of sorts to put it in. She made his bed, tucking the pillow from the floor in alongside the one on the bed. It seemed that blankets and clothes were the culprits behind the majority of the mess, and that, at least, was a relief. Victory finally came when she took a peek beneath the bed and discovered their books, stacked neatly in matching piles. Haru pulled them out one column at a time, and put them up on his desk.

From between the pages of one of the books, a little crushed, Haru spied the corner of a sheet of paper. She knew they knew better, but she felt the need to make sure — just in case — it wasn't some sort of a cheat sheet. What the paper actually contained was a letter, more words scribbled out than left, it seemed.

It was addressed to Gokudera.

Without much consideration for whether or not she should, Haru began to read the letter, half-formed as it was. She found herself a little overwhelmed, but mostly just endeared. She figured I-Pin had put him up to this, but really hoped she would know enough to have him follow through with it as well. He and Gokudera both need those sorts of pushes to get going in the right direction, and Gokudera lacks the sort of strong woman to do that for him...

Haru spread the letter flat over the text book, her eyes still locked on the words, though now she really wasn't reading them. She was proud of Lambo for even managing this much; the letter was little more than an outpouring of his anxiety (and seemed to lack the more important parts of what Haru thought he needed to tell Gokudera), but it was a lot more than she ever expected him to manage. And it was certainly a lot more than Gokudera would ever be willing to give.

After a few more moments, Haru tucked the letter back into place, doing her best to make sure it looked as undisturbed as possible. Carefully, she stacked the books up in one large pile and slid them off the desk into her arms — it was heavy, but manageable. Of course, it did not occur to her until too late the trouble she would have in shutting off the light and closing the door (as well as actually seeing around the books). She disregarded each for the moment and slowly made her way down the corridor, peering around the tower of books in her arms and listing just slightly to whichever side she chose. She would not say anything to Lambo or I-Pin, but she hoped they would follow through with the plan at some point.

She struggled through the kitchen door, nearly dropping the books in the process. There was the scuffling of shoes on the floor and another pair of arms scooped up half of the books. "Careful," Lambo warned, and Haru looked up to see his face warm and wearing a familiar half-smile of amusement. "Should you really have taken all of them at once? I thought it was only a history test today."

"Hahiii," Haru said a little sadly, realizing the very same thing only after he'd reminded her. She frowned as she followed him to the table, resting her set of books beside his before taking a seat beside Kyouko at the table. In her pout, she did not notice the nimble fingers that slipped the letter from the pages of the text book and quickly pocketed it, though Kyouko did.

"So it _is_ still just a history test today, right Haru-nee?" I-Pin asked, already reaching for her books.

"Yes," Haru replied sulkily.

Kyouko giggled amiably and wrapped an arm around Haru, gently squeezing her shoulder. "The extra books will give them something to look over after they've finished up, hm?"

Haru's only answer came in the form of an appreciative, somewhat crooked smile at her friend. Then she sighed and slowly stood, straightening her skirt and trying to look tough once more. "You two open up those books and begin reviewing. I'm going to go shut off the light in Lambo's room, all right?"

The pair nodded and immediately set to work, as instructed, first synchronizing their pages and then trading off with questions and answers. "Kyouko-chan? Make sure they've got everything covered before I get back."

"Yes, Captain!" Kyouko said with a exaggerated salute and a voice far too full of laughter to be taken seriously. The children and Haru laughed along with her, everyone glad for the lighter mood after breakfast, even if it was to begin with studying and an exam.

Haru was still smiling absently to herself as she exited the kitchen, making her way back down the corridor at a swift pace, though she planned on taking her time with the return to give the kids plenty of time to cram. At the T-intersection where she had earlier parted ways with Yamamoto and Gokudera, however, she had a bit of a reunion in the form of Gokudera nearly knocking her over. He stormed out of a door that led into a room she couldn't identify, and would have taken her down completely had she not just jumped out of his way. "Gokudera!" she shouted after him, immediately ruffled by his carelessness. He was always mad lately and that made her mad.

Gokudera did not respond and did not slow.

Haru, for a moment, debated whether to go after Gokudera or to simply let him be. There were merits to each course of action, as one would keep her nose out of where it didn't belong while the other would grant her the satisfaction of giving Gokudera a good slap. She hesitated just a moment more, pondering the disadvantages to each path, and almost immediately and rather inevitably decided that there could be no penalty grave enough to outweigh any advantages to giving Gokudera exactly what he deserved.

Haru continued down the main hallway of the sleeping quarters, approaching Lambo's door as Gokudera slammed his own door shut. It made her jump, but it also further ignited her irritation. The children were studying, after all. So she first shut off the light in Lambo's bedroom, then pulled his door closed before crossing the hall to position herself right outside of Gokudera's door. She then began to pound on it.

"Gokudera you open this door right now!"

There was no answer from within, but Haru swore she heard a grunt of disapproval.

"Gokudera!" she squawked and ceased her knocking. "Either you open this door immediately or I'll get Bianchi-chan to help me!"

There was that sound again and nothing else. Haru turned from the door to seek out Bianchi, when she heard feet shuffling inside his room and the door open behind her.

"Go take care of the brats. This isn't any of your business."

Haru whirled on Gokudera, hands on her hips and every muscle in her face arched and furious. "Hayato Gokudera there is absolutely no excuse you could possibly make for your behavior lately, especially these past few weeks. You are mistreating everyone around you for no reason. You tried to _kill_ poor Lambo and _still_ have not said a word to him in apology or at all about the incident. He's afraid to–"

"Afraid to leave his bedroom alone that's why blah blah blah I've heard this already. I know, all right? I know. There's nothing I can do about it."

Haru slammed her hand against the wall by Gokudera's face and he flinched. She stared up at him, hard, unblinking, and spoke very slowly. "There is a lot you can do about it and you will. It is _everyone's_ responsibility to take care of them. Kyouko-chan's, Yamamoto-san's, mine, _yours_."

Gokudera watched her and she didn't like the way his eyes seemed to be appraising her, sizing her up. She shrank back, dropped her hand from the wall, softened her face. She suddenly felt so foolish and very, very alone. "My only responsibility, _Haru Miura_ , is myself. Now let me enjoy my fucking cigarette."

When he didn't slam the door in her face, Haru felt something snap inside of her, but it wasn't rage. It made her start trembling, shaking so hard she needed the wall once more, to brace herself and keep on her feet.

She had never been the quickest of the bunch. She knew that; she was more than _smart_ enough to know that. She employed that logic now and she thought about what he had said that could make her body react this way. They had been arguing since they day they'd met and she'd heard far worse come out of his mouth, so it was none of that. His voice sounded tired, sad, lonely — even that, a little woefully, was nothing out of the ordinary.

Her hand slid down the wall, feeling for the handle on the door because her eyes were closed as she summoned courage. It slipped twice before she got a solid grip and she stumbled her way into the room, the lack of grace knocking the courage and tact right out of her. Gokudera was seated at the side of his bed, cigarette perched in his hand, smoke curling from his nose like a dragon, staring straight at her.

Haru couldn't remember anything she had just been thinking when she saw those empty eyes and simply started to cry.


	6. Five

As he was led down the corridor, Gokudera had an inkling as to why he was being led away in the first place; he was not quite that naive. He longed more than a little to take his cigarettes with him — even just a couple — but decided against it lest he end up wanting to put one out in someone's eye.

Just as they were turning to head towards the business end of the base (once affectionately and now simply referred to as the " _Dohyou_ * Wing"), their paths intersected with Haru's. Gokudera ignored her, eyes fixed on the Rain Guardian's back, and willed the foolish woman not to follow. The last thing he needed was to be chewed out by both of them (again) for the same thing (again). Upon reaching the door to the office, he heard no extra set of footsteps and was glad of it.

Gokudera stood before the lonely desk but did not sit. He was not about to make this feel like a lecture. "So you've got us alone, now. The only person we'll be bothering is Giannini-san. Possibly my crazy sister, but who the hell even knows where she is lately."

"I know you're still dealing with Tsuna's death."

Gokudera set his jaw, his mouth frowning, and stared at the Rain Guardian. "Should I be over it already?"

"You shouldn't still be dwelling as much as you are."

"Who the hell are you to tell me when I should be finished grieving?"

"No, no. That isn't what I'm saying. But it gets to a point where you have to move on, even just a little. You can't keep isolating yourself. There are so many things we have to put into action ourselves now that he's gone, and we need you to–"

"So it all falls on _me_? He knew from day one that I wasn't cut out for this job. I told him that myself."

"And yet you took on that responsibility when he appointed you."

Gokudera said nothing, but already his teeth hurt from how tightly he kept them clenched.

"You seem to have my damn job pretty well taken care of, since I don't even know what the hell is going on anymore."

"That's why I'm talking to you, now. I want to catch you back up to speed."

Gokudera's hands felt for the desk behind him and leaned back warily. His eyes dropped to the floor, observed the way the dark leather of his shoes contrasted with the light neutral tone of the carpeting. He didn't want or need to be hearing any of this right now; he knew all of this. He knew all about his inherent cowardice and each one of his shortcomings. They were all things he'd confronted in himself so many years ago — running away from his father — and he was not likely to ever forget the way they lingered just under the surface. Even in all the time he'd known the Tenth, he'd never conquered them, for either of their sakes.

"You aren't even listening to me, are you?" There was an edge of frustration that showed in the Rain Guardian's tone; it sounded alien and Gokudera knew better than to provoke him, but did anyway.

"Say something interesting and I might."

The Rain Guardian suddenly stepped toward him, loomed over him; even without slouching against the desk Gokudera was dwarfed by him. "This is exactly the kind of thing I am talking about. When the hell are you going to grow up and assume some responsibility? You _wanted_ this. You've _gotten_ it."

Gokudera straightened up, their chests nearly touching. Then, in an act that would have stunned anyone, Gokudera stepped around him without another word and began to very calmly walk away. The Rain Guardian, for once, was the one who would have none of it, and grabbed for his arm to stop him. That was when Gokudera finally lost the control he had been trying so desperately to hold onto for the entirety of the conversation.

As he turned around, he built up enough momentum for the force of his fist connecting with the Rain Guardian's jaw to knock him back far enough for his grip to loosen. He caught himself on the side of the desk, fingers gingerly touching the point of contact for signs of blood and finding quite an impressive gash, no doubt due to at least one of the rings Gokudera wore. The punch seemed to have said all that was left to be said, and the Rain Guardian allowed Gokudera to leave.

All of the lectures lately had been grating on him, and while he might later come to regret his action, for now he remained angry. Not the raucous, shouting anger he'd always been known for, but the sulking, broody anger that had become his new trademark. He wore that mask now as he rushed back down the hallway.

He scarcely noticed Haru as she approached him and not nearly in time to avoid her. He swore inwardly as she jumped aside, but did not turn back to her, even as she called after him. She was the absolute last person he wanted to see right now, especially after that kind of a confrontation. He knew she would follow him anyway, so he slammed his bedroom door, hoping she would take the fucking hint for once.

She did not, and only moments later was pounding on his door, screaming.

Gokudera groaned and reached for his cigarettes. He contemplated smoking two at once, but considered it wasn't worth the risk of passing out and setting anything on fire, so he decided to just smoke them quickly.

Ignoring her seemed to work, as she stopped her barrage, but the fix was only temporary. She soon continued her shouting, and it was only the mention of his sister that got him to stand. He knew she was bluffing — Bianchi had been scarce since Reborn's death — but figured he'd at least shut her up before she made herself hoarse.

When he opened the door, she was already walking away, so he spoke up more than he wanted to so she would hear. "Go take care of the brats. This isn't any of your business."

The face she wore when she turned to him then could have rivaled any of his own. "Hayato Gokudera there is absolutely no excuse you could possibly make for your behavior lately, especially these past few weeks. You are mistreating everyone around you for no reason. You tried to _kill_ poor Lambo and _still_ have not said a word to him in apology or at all about the incident. He's afraid to–"

"Afraid to leave his bedroom alone that's why blah blah blah I've heard this already. I know, all right? I know. There's nothing I can do about it." He turned from her, for some reason a little embarrassed by the way she looked at him. But when he made to close his door, Haru slammed her hand against the doorframe and it startled him enough to get him to look at her again. She was staring at him hard, looking through him more than at him. He felt his fingers falter a little behind the door, nearly dropping his cigarette.

"There is a lot you can do about it and you will. It is _everyone's_ responsibility to take care of them. Kyouko-chan's, Yamamoto-san's, mine, _yours_."

He watched her, not unkindly, as and after she spoke. He had a headache, but didn't think it was from all this shouting. It surprised him a little to see her suddenly begin to step back, but he was relieved. Quietly, he said, "My only responsibility, _Haru Miura_ , is myself. Now let me enjoy my fucking cigarette."

Gokudera gently shut the door and turned his back on it. Approaching his bed again, he took a drag off his cigarette almost deep enough to finish off the remaining half of it. Eyes closed, his legs lowered him onto the mattress and it groaned beneath his weight in place of his voice. He exhaled slowly, his lungs, throat, his entire chest burning from the smoke.

Then Haru tripped through the door and his eyes opened, found her frightened face in the dark, and widened in matching fear when she began to cry.

The rest of the smoke rushed out of him along with the rest of his breath as he hesitated on what he should do. Haru crumpled onto the floor, hands falling uselessly in her lap, and sobbed. Once Gokudera remembered how to breathe, he stabbed the butt of his cigarette into his ashtray (though it was very nearly his table), and went to her to at least pull her up onto the bed.

Her arms flew around him the moment he tried to lift her, and they did not let go even after he'd mostly carried her to the bed and they were sitting. Unsure of what else to do, he held onto her, lightly, and suppressed his frustration at not being able to light another cigarette. She buried her face into his chest, seemingly when she realized his arms weren't leaving, and held onto him even tighter. Good riddance on the cigarette, he supposed, as it was difficult to smoke when you couldn't breathe.

It seemed to take a very long time for her to calm herself, even with him holding her. The discomfort slowly made way to fatigue throughout the fit, so by the time she pulled herself away he didn't think he had anything left in him to listen to her yap.

"I'm sorry, Hayato," she said softly, using that same tone she'd used with him after the incident with the children. It stung a little now, like it hadn't then. He blamed it on the name, which he would explain to her later was not meant for her lips.

He pulled his hands into his lap, threading his fingers to cement them together before she tried anything else. "What are you sorry for?"

Haru didn't answer; she simply hiccupped and watched him, eyes red and cheeks tearstained. She wrung her hands though it was obvious she was trying not to, and looked nearly ready to start crying all over again if he really wanted her to answer. To prevent himself from tears simply from looking at her like this more than to prevent her from starting again, Gokudera unlocked his hands and set them over hers. "Stop. Whatever it is, just stop. Okay? It's not worth it."

That seemed to be the entirely wrong thing to say, as the tears immediately glazed over her eyes again and she hitched in a nice, long breath. Gokudera panicked a little, pulled his hands away from hers, and used them instead to sandwich her face. "I said fucking stop."

He didn't care what it was that worked — whether it was his hands on her face, the words from his mouth, or anything else — he simply cared that it _worked_.

"Don't you ever fucking do that to me again."

Haru nodded, barely, her eyes trained on him, but he ignored that.

"Go take care of the b– kids."

She nodded again, but didn't move right away. It wasn't until he thought to remove his hands that she stood. Then she bowed deeply, hands clasped in front of her, and hurried out of the room, leaving the door wide open and Gokudera to stare after her.


	7. Six

The words coming out of her mouth were all gibberish. She knew they were gibberish, they had to be. She could not be blathering on through tears like this and possibly be making any sense at all. Haru spoke a language made of stuttered adjectives and polite suffixes for any number of hours, though it was apparently no longer than twenty minutes. When the sounds finally ran out, he was holding her on his bed, not saying anything, but _not letting go_. Slowly, she moved away, anxious of crossing some invisible line, but by then all she had left in her was an apology. "I'm sorry, Hayato." The name slipped out too quickly for her to notice what she'd said until she felt it in the way his grip tightened ever so slightly on her arms before he pulled away entirely.

"What are you sorry for?" he said softly to his hands, clasped in his lap.

Haru wanted so badly, then, to hold onto him longer, to make up for all those nights spent wide awake, straining to hear murmurs and forgetting to breathe. But she couldn't bring herself to touch him. She couldn't bring herself to do anything but start to cry all over again, the fresh tears burning at her eyes and apparently frightening him. She thought he was moving to slap her, but instead his hands stuck themselves to either side of her head and the tears went away, her vision cleared, and they were staring straight into one another.

"I said fucking stop." He paused; she didn't dare breathe. "Don't you ever fucking do that to me again."

She nodded but even without the sound of her lungs she couldn't hear him over the look in those eyes. She didn't think you were meant to see into someone's eyes because there was nothing there to stand in the way.

"Go take care of the...kids."

Haru didn't want to leave him now. She wanted to ask him to come with her, make up some ridiculous excuse for him to oversee their test today. She could explain things to Lambo; she would make sure they were both safe. She didn't even know whom she meant by "both."

Gokudera's hands released her and fell back into his lap. That was her cue to take her leave, but not before she expressed her gratitude at least mildly coherently: she bowed, deep and proper, then hurried away before he could ask any other questions.

Haru briskly made her way down the corridor, until she remembered the children needed time to study. Then she remembered they'd already had an extra twenty minutes, so she sped up again. However, when she arrived in the room, they were already in the middle of their tests, sitting on opposite sides of the room with their books right in the middle. Usually Kyouko would be here to keep watch, just in case, though...

"Sorry to interrupt," she began, hoping they wouldn't hear the tears still stuck in her throat, "but where has Kyouko-chan gotten to?"

"Yamamoto-san called for her over the intercom while you were gone."

Haru couldn't hide her sudden alarm — she never could — though she managed not to make a sound to accompany it for once. However, I-Pin's eyes were still trained on her face and Haru saw her anxiety mirrored. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Haru laughed. The children did not. "Yamamoto-san didn't sound like anything was wrong, did he?"

"Not...particularly..." I-Pin said, recalling.

"What happened?" Lambo asked and Haru turned to him, immediately wishing that she hadn't.

"I'm sure everything is fine. Kyouko-chan will tell us when she gets back!" Haru put on a brave face, trying to think and feel like Kyouko did during mealtimes with Gokudera, during anything with Gokudera. Thinking of Gokudera was not helping. "I have an idea!"

The children, who had already returned to their exams to distract themselves while Haru was lost in her thoughts, startled noticeably, but looked to her, interested. "You two finish up, and I will go see what all the fuss is, okay?" Lambo and I-Pin nodded distractedly, neither terribly surprised at her decision, and craned their necks back over their tests, pencils working furiously, though one maybe just a bit more so than the other.

Haru didn't even make it out of the room before Kyouko returned, smiling as if nothing at all were wrong with the world. "Ah, sorry for leaving them!" she said, somewhat embarrassed. "Yamamoto-san needed my help with something."

"Is everything all right?" Haru asked, hoping she sounded as casual as she wanted to sound.

"Everything's fine," she laughed. "Just Yamamoto-san being Yamamoto-san!" Kyouko seemed to suddenly become aware of the children, her smile cracking a little. "Maybe we should leave them to the quiet while they finish up, hm? We can talk in the hall."

Haru nodded and followed Kyouko out, not bothering to glance back at the children because there was no harm in them watching the girls file out, wondering why they needed to speak outside of the room instead of simply waiting and watching like they always did.

Kyouko shut the door after them gently, not wanting it to swing endlessly as its momentum ran down, further distracting the children as they caught snippets of their conversation. She led Haru a small ways down the hallway, far enough for their voices to be little more than murmurs, but still well-clear of the T. Haru's eyes lingered on the intersection for just a little too long, though when she turned back to Kyouko it was obvious she hadn't noticed. She had her hand pressed to her forehead, eyes closed, as if trying to will away a migraine.

"Gokudera-san–" she started, stopping abruptly as if it were all she wanted to say. " _Yamamoto_ -san spoke to Gokudera-san about his behavior. After breakfast." Kyouko's hand dropped from her head and into her other hand, which immediately began to wring it, almost violently. Haru quickly reached forward to take both of Kyouko's hands in hers, holding them gently and squeezing. Kyouko squeezed back and continued. "They were just...talking. Even Gokudera-san wasn't shouting. Then he tried to leave and Yamamoto-san stopped him and..."

"And?"

"And Gokudera-san hit him."

"He _hit him_?" Haru asked, eyes wide and hands involuntarily clutching Kyouko's too tightly, though her friend said and did nothing.

"Yamamoto-san needed a little help with the stitches. He didn't want to ask Bianchi-chan, in case she tried to talk to Gokudera-san afterwards."

 _"Stitches?"_ Haru squawked and Kyouko winced at the sound, glancing toward the kitchen where the children worked. "Stitches?" Haru repeated, still staring at Kyouko in disbelief.

"It wasn't anything serious. Yamamoto-san just, well, you know," and Kyouko started to laugh, much to Haru's somewhat horrified confusion. "Yamamoto-san smiles a bit too often not to have stitched it. It would never heal, otherwise."

Haru watched Kyouko for a few beats longer before allowing herself a giggle that was more relief than anything. "He does, doesn't he? ...I'm glad, though. The smiles are nice."

Kyouko agreed, her smile finally breaking through her worry once more. That, more than anything, made Haru feel better. She pulled Kyouko in for a tight, brief hug before the pair of them headed back to the kitchen.

Though the exam went brilliantly — both children scoring full marks, plus the extra credit — and dinner was excellent — Kyouko's cooking better than ever — the nighttime went as it always did. Everyone was tucking themselves into bed, quieting for the night, and just as on edge as ever. Haru lay in bed, still and feigning more fatigue than she felt so she could listen hard for Gokudera's stirrings. I-Pin and Kyouko whispered goodnights to each other before I-Pin ascended the ladder to get to her bunk. With Yamamoto staying with them again, lately, Lambo was back to sharing his room. Gokudera had long-since been given his own sleeping quarters after Yamamoto grew tired of the nightly arguments.

Once the breathing of the girls slowed, Haru's stopped as she held it and waited. Gokudera was not yet restless; she imagined him perched on his bed, smoking quietly, trying in vain to calm himself so he might fall asleep. Her hand went involuntarily to the wall, the surface cool against her skin. She wondered how long she would need to wait.

Haru woke sometime later and sat up in a panic when she realized she'd been sleeping. She panted while listening hard for Gokudera through the wall, her ear pressed hard against it as if that might help. She heard nothing, as always, but decided that it might be now or never. Silently, Haru slipped from beneath her sheets, mindful of where she braced her hands on the bed to avoid the groans of the wood and did the same with her feet as she stepped across the floor to the door. She didn't look back as she exited the room.

She tiptoed down the corridor though her bare feet would be soundless on the tile. She wouldn't take any chances. When she reached his door, she held her hand on the handle for a time without moving. She wasn't quite sure how he was going to react to this. She wondered if he woke easily. She wondered if he would shout.

Haru slowly opened the door and slid through a crack just large enough to accommodate her before closing it and blanketing them both in darkness.

Gokudera shifted on the bed. Haru didn't make a sound and simply listened to the pattern of his breathing, trying to discern whether he was awake or asleep. After twenty-odd beats of her heart, she decided she was safe, and shuffled her way to the bed, arms outstretched to catch anything in her way. The path was clear, and soon her knees gently bumped into the mattress.

Her problem now was figuring out where he was lying, whether he was on either side or sprawled out in the middle. She took her chances that he was facing away, on the far side of the mattress, and carefully crawled up onto the bed. She sighed softly in relief to find there was ample room, even if he'd already managed to get the sheets completely tangled around his legs.

She reached for him with a single, somewhat shaky hand, feeling blindly for his back or shoulder, and the first thing she found was his bare arm. Keeping her touch light, she ran her palm along the contours, stopped at his wrist, and made her way back up to his shoulder. She did not move any nearer because she did not dare, but even this seemed to be enough, as his muscles slowly relaxed. She didn't try to untangle the sheets, though as he lightly kicked at them in his sleep, she managed to pull some of them free enough to be able to properly lay them over the pair of them. After that, he rolled over just a little, just enough to lean against her.

Haru felt her heart palpitate, her whole self heating up partly in anxiety and partly in shame. Suddenly this felt like an awful idea, regardless of the good it seemed to have done for him. She had not been invited; she simply let herself in to his room and his bed. But when he did not stir any further, drifted back into an even deeper sleep, and Haru delicately wedged her other arm under the pillow they were now sharing, she decided not to leave.

She could deal with the yelling in the morning if it meant he would sleep soundly for just one night.


	8. Seven

His dream that night came to him in snippets. It was not that he was failing to recall it — he'd gained that skill unintentionally when the nightmare began — but that it was chopped up, re-edited, and made little sense, even to he who knew the plot by heart. He stirred easily all night, but at least that helped to keep the dream at bay. Until, that is, in a bout of wakefulness (for whom, he wasn't sure), she came into the room, climbed into his bed, and laid the gentlest of hands on his arm as she curled up behind him. He let her believe him to be asleep, if only because the immenseness of his gratitude embarrassed him.

She was still there the following morning when he awoke before her. He realized he'd kept the blankets to himself, and she lay there on her side, exposed, the hem of her nightshirt at mid-thigh, arms tucked carefully in front of her face. Gently, Gokudera covered her, wary of waking her, and slid out of bed to gather clothes. He needed a shower anyway.

Breakfast was quiet as always, but even more so since Haru had still not gotten out of bed. Gokudera ate quickly, nodding his thanks to Kyouko, ignoring the bewildered look on her face, especially the part that wanted to ask him. Then he strode smoothly back to his bedroom to get some cigarettes. Once more, his fingers itched for the feel of ivory and this time he would shut and lock the door.

Haru was waiting for him, still in her nightshirt. She kept her thighs pressed tightly together as she sat on the bed, hands in her lap. Gokudera's blood pumped a little faster anyway.

"You aren't angry with me." It wasn't a question.

"No."

"Will you tell me what's been bothering you since Tsuna-san left?"

Gokudera tried and failed not to wince at the name, however slightly. He hoped she hadn't noticed, and either she didn't or simply didn't say anything. "Not now."

"But will you?"

"...I might."

"Please?"

 _"Haru."_ He heard both of their hearts pause briefly in the silence after he spoke as if they, too, were anxiously awaiting more.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Just. Not yet." Haru nodded and dropped her eyes to her hands. Gokudera hesitated and decided not to say anything more about last night. "They're waiting for you in the kitchen." He felt a little dumb for his obviousness.

"I know," she said without looking up.

"Do you want me to go get you some clothes?"

Haru laughed a little and finally lifted her head, her face a mixture of pleading and shame and a bit of genuine amusement. "The green dress, please." Gokudera smiled softly at her and nodded before going to retrieve it. Then he patiently waited outside the door for her while she changed.

"...Could–"

"I wasn't planning on it," he interrupted, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

"Me neither." They stood awkwardly with each other in the hallway outside his bedroom for an exceedingly long time, despite their wanting to keep last night to themselves. Just as Gokudera was going to say something more, however, Haru nodded once to herself, once to him, and offered more of a grimace than a smile as she hurried on to have breakfast. Gokudera immediately headed in the opposite direction, towards the music room, doubling back once to get his cigarettes.

The eventual sounds of the piano drowned out the footsteps that crept up on tiptoe to the door, the shuffling clothes as two bodies sat outside and listened, looking to each other partly in nervousness, but mostly in confusion. They made sure to run away again long before they could be caught.

That night, before he was ready to sleep, Gokudera stood in his room halfway between his bed and the door. He stared at the bed, its unkemptness. He stared at its one pillow. He was about to step forward and at least straighten the blankets, when the door behind him opened without a knock. Haru stood there, pillow tucked beneath her arm and an outfit for tomorrow draped over it. The question was on her face, and she opened her mouth to speak it, but Gokudera simply went to her to open the door wider and let her inside.

They laid there in the dark, Gokudera listened to her breathing, waiting for her to fall asleep. He could feel the warmth of her breasts pressed against his back, the way her chest rose and fell. A tickle he nearly shrugged off on instinct started at his hip, and he realized it was her hand and she was trying to be stealthy. He did not reach for it, but he didn't pull away. He allowed her to hold him and he closed his eyes, hoping it really was her touch that could keep the nightmare from coming back.

The pair of them began to time their arrivals to breakfast each day, staggering them in a way he could only hope wasn't so obvious. No one ever asked, and soon the confusion faded from their faces, not even reappearing when he and Haru occasionally arrived in tandem. Gokudera occasionally suspected she was being questioned about her sleeping habits, but she never said anything and he never asked. This was nothing more than a sleeping arrangement and certainly none of anyone else's fucking business, though occasionally he would be cornered by the Rain Guardian, trying to be sly. (He had evidently already been forgiven for splitting his face open.) Gokudera would simply slip away, shouting this obscenity or that, and hole up in his bedroom as always, cigarettes still his only daytime companion.

Then there came a night when Gokudera woke in a fit, sweating and panting but thankfully not screaming, the images still vivid even after his eyes had shot open. The jolt woke Haru as well, and immediately her sleepy voice could be heard asking him what the matter was. He reached for her hand, blindly, fumbling through sheets until he found it and held it tightly. She soon whined of the pain and he loosened his grip, hesitated, then let go entirely. He suddenly felt silly and the dream had faded from his mind. He turned his head to face her, cheek pressed against his damp pillow. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she murmured, her voice muffled. She shifted and laid her head on his shoulder for only a second. "You're soaked." She was much more alert now, and Gokudera more felt than saw her rise. "Did you have that dream again?"

He shook his head, then realized. "No. No, this one was different. It...it was worse, somehow. But it's already gone." Suddenly her hand was on his face, wiping the perspiration away the best that it could while her other urged him up so she could toss his pillow off of the bed. As a sort of after thought before he laid back down, Gokudera stripped his undershirt off and discarded it as well. Of course, she only nudged him again so she could slip her own pillow beneath him. He could never tire of that scent. However, even with Haru curled comfortably on his chest and her scent bombarding him from every side, it did nothing to calm him enough for sleep, and Haru was keenly aware of that.

"Did you want me to go make you some tea?"

"No."

"What can I do?"

"You've done more than enough."

"I can hear how fast your heart's still beating."

"S-Sorry. Lay your head on the pillow. There's room." Haru shifted, her hair soft along his skin, and nuzzled her face into his neck. Gokudera wondered with vague disdain exactly what that was meant to do to calm him. He, too, shifted, turning onto his side to face her. She took that as a signal to press closer, arms resting on his chest, head tucked under his chin. He held her on instinct, not realizing quickly enough that that was not what he would want to have done.

He hadn't put his arms around her since the night he'd had to awkwardly shuffle her to sit on his bed while she couldn't stop crying. He'd forgotten how it felt. He wished he didn't remember now. "Haru."

"Yes?"

Gokudera hadn't meant to say that aloud, but was paying too much attention to creeping his hand down her back, fingers deliberately following every curve until they reached the hem of her nightshirt. They peeked underneath, and when she said and did nothing, his hand sneaked inside, gliding smoothly over her soft skin. Her own fingers seemed to get the hint. They traveled lightly over his back, tracing swirling patterns and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He pressed his hand firmly to the small of her back, pulling her into him before carefully turning over, laying her on her back while he straddled her on all fours. She transitioned just as seamlessly, her hands slipping from his back to his hips, taking hold.

He wasn't quite sure how long it took, simply that it was full of too many moans that were much too loud for this time of night and names that spilled past lips that didn't know what they were saying. By the time they had finished — by the time they had _both_ finished — each was beaded with fresh perspiration, their clothes along with the blankets had been thrown to the floor, and Gokudera, even in his utter and most welcome exhaustion, still needed to exert just enough energy to make sure Haru could reclaim her place, nestled quietly against his chest.

Gokudera knew he could not do this forever.


	9. Eight

By the time Haru awoke the next morning, Gokudera was already gone, and she attributed the slight ache in her chest to her groggy mind playing tricks. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and simply slid her feet out of bed. She figured he had gone to breakfast and that even if he'd only just left, she wouldn't be alone for long. As she waited, she smoothed her hair the best she could without a mirror, fingers sufficing in place of a comb. Then she amused herself with the things Gokudera kept on his nightstand, idly toying with the cigarettes and lighter, spinning them in slow circles.

When she heard the door opening, she froze for a moment, forgetting where she was. It came in a flash just before he entered and she quickly retracted her hand, clasped them both in her lap and kept her knees pressed together to keep as modest as she could, given her clothing. He stopped in the doorway to look at her, and slowly her eyes met his, not expecting the softness she found.

"You aren't angry with me." Haru wasn't quite sure if that was meant to be a question or not.

"No." His voice was gentle and she felt her heart lift a little.

"Will you tell me what's been bothering you since Tsuna-san left?"

Gokudera flinched and Haru feared she'd been too bold. Her hands tightened around each other in anxiety. But he still did not shout. "Not now."

"But will you?"

"...I might."

"Please?"

 _"Haru."_ His voice was sharp, but not cruel, and Haru felt her heart start beating again.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Just. Not yet." Haru looked back to her hands, nodding. "They're waiting for you in the kitchen."

He was getting rid of her, now. "I know."

"Do you want me to go get you some clothes?"

Haru let out a soft, surprised laugh, and looked up at him then. She was too much a mix of relief, shame, and anxiety. "The green dress, please." Her breath caught when she saw him smile (tiny as it was, it was a _smile_ and it was _just for her_ ), nod, and leave to get it.

Once she was dressed, she found him standing in the hallway, waiting for her. She mustered a small smile at that, but told herself it was just because he had something to say. Well, so did she. "...Could–"

"I wasn't planning on it," he interrupted, and the look on his face told her he'd been about to say the same, that no one needed to know.

"Me neither," she said quietly. She realized there were so many other things she wanted to say and ask (and do), but that she didn't even know where to start. Finally, eventually, she simply decided it would happen when it would, and nodded to herself in agreement. She gave a small nod to Gokudera in parting, and smiled a little lamely before hurrying past him to the kitchen. Kyouko must be so worried.

Her thoughts were confirmed the moment she set foot into the room and Kyouko's eyes widened first because of her surprise and secondly because she was trying to swallow a mouthful of too-hot coffee. "Hahiii!"

"It's all right! I'm all right!" Kyouko set her cup down and lifted her hands to Haru as she stood to go and placate her, but also to check for a fever. "Are you feeling all right? It's almost ten."

"I feel fine. ...Just extra tired, it seems!" She smiled at Kyouko, hoping she would believe her, and got only a small frown in return. "W-what did you make for breakfast today, Kyouko-chan?"

"French toast. Lambo helped to make it. I can cook you some fresh?"

Haru nodded enthusiastically, her smile slowly becoming more genuine and less manic, as she helped Kyouko mix up a new egg mixture for dipping the bread. She added just a little extra cinnamon, which begat a look from Kyouko, which begat her own playful assault upon Kyouko with the cinnamon, which ended in quite a mess on the floor and counter where they stood, but more than enough laughter to make up for it. This was how things were supposed to be: fun and light and innocent. Haru thought of Gokudera and the emptiness in his eyes and wondered again what could be causing it.

Haru ate her breakfast quietly chatting with Kyouko, who would stealthily remove pieces of it from her plate to tuck them into her own mouth, always making Haru smile. However, they both smiled when, so faintly they both thought they were imagining it, they heard expert fingers dancing over piano keys. Haru couldn't hide the way her smile widened, but Kyouko was friend enough to not say anything.

That night, as Haru stood alone in the girls' bedroom, readying for sleep, she made a decision: she didn't care what the others thought. She didn't understand why Gokudera _did_ , but that mattered only peripherally to her. He would come around; he would have to. So Haru gathered up a pillow and clothes for tomorrow morning and marched her way just a bit down the corridor to Gokudera's bedroom. With a count of one-two- _now_ , Haru tricked herself into opening the door sooner than she wanted to and saw Gokudera standing at his bed, face peering over his shoulder to see who was there. He didn't miss a beat, inviting her in immediately with an opened door that he also shut for her.

Neither said a word for the rest of the night, though Haru tried her best to prove one could say a lot without words, slipping a clever arm around Gokudera's waist before they both fell asleep.

Things were not always so silent, as the weeks would show. Occasionally she would get him to talk, but it would never be about much. Still, whatever she could get him to say, she would. He would explain to her the differences between ballads and boleros, serenades and sonatas. He would tell her how one can make simple explosives with minimal ingredients and how many hard ways he had learned before he'd gotten it right. He was an encyclopedia of information, his knowledge seemingly endless — but he always held her at arm's length and she felt it.

Then there came a night, after so many nights of peace that had everyone at ease, when the nightmare came back. Gokudera's sudden jolt woke Haru, who immediately sat up to see what was the matter. He took her hand and squeezed it too hard, so she said something and he ended up letting go. Even in her haze of sleep she wished she hadn't said anything. As if he could hear her thoughts, he turned to her, apologizing, so she reassured him with coos and rested her head on his chest as she often did, only to find his shirt completely drenched. She sat up, staring at him worriedly in the dark. "Did you have that dream again?"

"No. No, this one was different. It...it was worse, somehow. But it's already gone."

She began to wipe the sweat from his forehead, though there was little else she could do with it but wipe it onto his pillowcase, which was just as soaked. She eventually tossed it to the floor, and soon his shirt joined it. Then she laid her own pillow beneath his head, ran a hand down his bare chest to clear it, and laid her own head there. She'd hoped the contact would soothe him; she quickly realized it would not.

"Did you want me to go make you some tea?"

"No."

"What can I do?"

"You've done more than enough."

"I can hear how fast your heart's still beating."

"S-Sorry. Lay your head on the pillow. There's room." She lifted her head and carefully laid beside him, pressing close, tucking her face by his neck. It was a selfish move; he was damp and musky but she just wanted to be _close_. He seemed to understand and rolled over onto his side, wrapped his arms around her while she cuddled up, head now beneath his chin and her arms curled against his chest.

"Haru," he said softly.

"Yes?" The tickle of his fingers along her spine felt both dangerous and thrilling. She made no move, waiting to see what he would do, and when his hand slipped up her nightshirt she nearly gasped out loud. And yet she found her fingers playing along, gliding over his still slick skin, seeing what they might find. It was mere moments before Gokudera had her flipped on her back, bearing down on her like an animal. Her entire body tingled and her nightshirt itched like mad. It eventually, inevitably, took its place on the floor strewn with the rest of their casualties and lay there for the night while he slept with his head on her pillow and she with her head on his chest.


	10. Epilogue

The dream Haru had was not at once convincingly nightmarish.

The view focuses on a small flat, occupied by Gokudera smoking, hiding behind the newspaper he is reading, and a very small child on the floor near his feet. She cannot see his face, but when he checks his watch, he makes a sound of disapproval. Not outright disapproval; perhaps more _disappointment_. As if he is expecting someone who is excessively late.

The baby crawls around Gokudera's legs as well as the table's, happily scooting itself along with arms and determined kicking. It quickly and quite unexpectedly, crashes head-first into one of the hard, wooden table legs and immediately begins to scream.

Gokudera ignores it.

Minutes pass and the baby continues to howl while Gokudera simply reads his paper, smoking his cigarette, oblivious. Then Haru sees herself stumbling through the door with an armload of shopping piled high up over her head. She drops everything when she hears the baby, runs to it, and makes to scold Gokudera. She has no mouth. She has a nose and eyes, cheeks and chin, but absolutely nothing to complete the picture. She tries to vocalize, tries to scream, and there is no sound. Still, Gokudera immediately drops the paper as if he's heard her, and that's where Haru always wakes up.

The dream usually fades quickly, but sometimes Haru can hang onto it for just long enough to remember, in fear or in relief, that she has never been able to dream long enough to see Gokudera's face, for she can never recall what it looks like.

Today, when Haru wakes, Gokudera's arm is draped protectively over her middle, and there are tears drying on her face, but she cannot remember why. She turns to him, her eyes roaming his face as if it's the first time she's seen him in years. His eyebrows still furrow when he sleeps and she wonders every day if his nightmare still haunts him and he's simply learned to keep quiet about it. She likes to think positively.

She reaches her arm out to him, hand gently pushing the hair from his eyes. He has a new scar, just above his eyebrow, so thin and white you can scarcely see it. He still won't tell her where they all come from, why he needs to practice so diligently with his dynamite, when Tsuna-san will come back from Italy. Sasagawa-san has been and gone back twice already. "Not yet. Not yet," he always tells her, and she'll wait. She has little else to do.

Yesterday Reborn finally returned (Haru's mind drifted once more to Tsuna-san then back again) and he seemed a little worse for the wear. He seems very tired, but has been very indulgent with Bianchi-chan regardless since she has finally come out of hiding, wanting to see if it was really true. Haru softly smiles, thinking of how happy she looked to see him, all those tears of joy and relief and love. She turns that smile on Gokudera and carefully tucks his hair back so it will stay out of his face. Seeing Bianchi-chan that way put some thoughts in Haru's head, ideas about love and truthfulness. She thinks, one day, she will have to ask her to explain it again.

Slowly, Haru eases from beneath Gokudera's arm and out of bed, straightening the covers over him. She slips on a pair of shorts from the dresser and pads out into the hallway. It's still a little early for the others to be up, so she decides she will start on breakfast for them.

Haru cries out in surprise when she walks into the kitchen to find Yamamoto seated with a mug and a book at the main table. "When did you get back?"

"Very, very early," he says, marking his page with a folded corner. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," she says, and wraps her arms around her, either uncomfortable or cold — even she isn't sure.

He smiles at her warmly and stands, going to the stove. Haru realizes he is fixing her a cup of tea. "Is Gokudera still sleeping well?"

"Mm," she says and softly steps toward the table, having a seat across from where Yamamoto had been.

"What about you?" Yamamoto's arm suddenly appears to her left, setting her mug down on the table before her. Haru dips her head in thanks and does not watch him as he sits, instead focusing somewhere in the walls. "Haru?"

"Ah, yes. Haru is sleeping well." She can feel him observing her and it makes her feel naked, so she lifts the tea to sip at it.

"No nightmares?"

Haru's eyes look toward Yamamoto, find him staring at her, chin propped up by his hand, accentuating the pink scar along it. The stitches had fallen out too early. All that smiling. "What would Yamamoto-san like for breakfast? Haru's treat, since you've just arrived back."

"French toast," he says, and Haru nods, abandons her tea on the table, and goes to fetch a bowl from the cabinet.

Neither of them say anything until Haru has the bread cooking in the pan. "Haru was thinking, maybe tomorrow we could go visit Hana-chan."

"'We?'"

"Kyouko-chan, the children and Haru." Haru laughs a little and looks over her shoulder. "But you can come, too, if you'd like."

Yamamoto laughs his amiable laugh and leans back just a little on the bench. "No, that's all right. I'll be glad to have the room to myself for rest. Would you like me to escort you?"

"What?"

"To Kurokawa-san's house."

"Oh! Oh, right. Yes, if you would."

"Consider it done." Haru turns away from that grin under the guise of needing to flip the bread. She knows that he knows. He's been gone since a little over a week after that very first night she slipped secretly into Hayato's room, but she knows that's he's known since then. It must have been the first night he'd had no need to go to him.

She wishes he would just come out and say it, make a bold announcement of his awareness as he'd always done when they were younger. She thinks that if she can tell just one person, it might become real. She wants to be certain. She wants solidarity.

She wants the truth.


End file.
